November 19th
by Aria007
Summary: The honeymoon is over, and Joe and Rachel realize they might be in over their heads. Marriage might be a mission they can't accomplish.


Perhaps it was the third shot of Tequila, or maybe the fact that it was November 19th and she missed him. Missed him and all the things they didn't get to do; all the things he didn't get to experience. It really didn't matter what it was that made her say it. The thing is, she didn't mean to say it. She really didn't mean to, but she did.

She knew as soon as she formed the words that they would kill him, but she couldn't stop them from tumbling out. She was hurting and wanted someone, anyone, _him_ to hurt too.

"It's your fault he's gone." Five words. A world of pain.

He flinched, pained, wounded. Hurt flashed across his eyes, and then it was gone. In an instant all emotion was gone from his emerald eyes.

"Joe…" Rachel reached for him but before she could say anything else, he was gone.

For a moment, she didn't know what to do. Completely sobered up, she called the one person who would. "I hurt him, Abigail…I really hurt him," she told her sister, her voice heavy with regret.

"What exactly did you do, Rachel?" She asked, fearful and frustrated because it was two am and there was little else she could say on a day like November 19th.

So Rachel told her sister how she broke the heart of the man she loved. Abigail tried to understand her, she tried to make excuses for her for, but she couldn't. All she could do was ask why.

"Why Rachel?" the question finally came. "Why would you do that? To him of all people?" Rachel shook her head. When Abigail didn't get a reply she pushed on.

"You don't get it, do you? He doesn't just believe that he's responsible. He _knows_ , Rachel. He _knows_ that he is the reason Matthew is no longer alive. And on most days, he can live with that knowledge. On most days, I can live with the guilt too. But not on days like these. Not on November 19th, or December 25th, on Cammie's birthday or yours, or Joe's or mine. Every year we get to live and he doesn't…" Abigail stopped, paused to gather her thoughts. Rachel heard her take a deep breath. "On most days we can live with that guilt because only we _know_. But to have someone else remind us of it…" Abby shook her head, at a loss for words, her heart aching for her brother-in-law, both of them.

"I don't know what to do," Rachel sighed.

"Just…just make it okay." Abigail said, because that's what her older sister did. She made things okay.

"I will." Rachel said, even if she didn't know how to. Abigail hung up.

"If I happen to lose Joe, where could if find him?" Rachel texted her daughter, and late as it was, she received a reply almost immediately.

"Follow the pigeons. Is everything okay?"

"Thank you. I'll make it okay."

It was past 3 am when she found him seating in front of a chalkboard. It was full of Joe's messy script. It was a language she never quite learned, but instantly recognized as theirs. She knew without being told that what she saw was a love letter to him. Her heart ached. She didn't deserve this man, but she'd be damned if she didn't at least seek his forgiveness.

She knelt before him. She saw him drag his knees close to his chest. She looked so much like a child, her heart broke. She reached for him and saw the minute flinch as he turned his face slightly to the wall. She bit her lip softly, undeterred. Exhausted and defeated, he submitted to her caress, letting her touch his face gently, coaxing him to look at her.

"I killed him." He said softly, not able to look her in the eye.

"No, no, no. You didn't." she tried, sifting her hands through his hair, silently pleading with him to look at her.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"I did," he said, as if admitting to a crime, "I killed your husband. I got your daughter kidnapped and tortured and yet you married me?"It wasn't supposed to be a question, but it sounded like one. The self-hatred in his voice made her heart constrict painfully. She didn't say anything, because she knew there was nothing she could say that would ease his pain.

She also knew that this was about more than what she had said. He blamed himself, she already knew, for everything that had gone wrong during the past several years. She didn't know how to make it right. She didn't know what to say that wouldn't make him feel worse, that wouldn't validate the erroneous feelings he had. So she took to being petty.

"Joseph," she said, searching his face, "I said 'til death do us part'. _You_ are my husband now. And I wouldn't have married you if any ounce of my being believed what I said." She paused, giving up on trying to make him look at her. Instead she took a seat next to him, pressed her back against the cold concrete wall and took his hand in hers, their arms intertwined, as she began to draw her finger across it.

"I miss him," she went on, "I know I always will. And this heart ache, it's as fresh as the day you told me he wouldn't come back. And sometimes it drives me insane. It makes me cruel. It makes me callous and tonight I allowed it to hurt you. And I won't forgive myself for that, so I don't quite know how to ask you for forgiveness, but I have to make sure you know that I don't blame you. Not for Mathew, not for Cammie." She felt the slight tremor of his arm in hers, felt him take a deep, distressed breath that spoke of the burden he carried on his shoulders. After a moment, Rachel went on.

"Matthew loved you. Everything that he did, up until Rome, he did because he _loved_ you. You didn't see how it killed him to see you hurt because of them. Bringing down the Circle was a lot less about 'fighting the good fight' than it was about making things right by you. What they did to you…you were a child." Rachel told him softly. She heard the quieted sniffles before she felt the sobs rack his body beside her. Joe Solomon was crying. She drew him close to her, his head on her shoulder as he drew himself close to her, his hands feebly gripping at her sweater, his face pressed to it, trying to hide his tears. She held him to her, gently rubbing circles against his back.

"He loved you," she continued. "He loved you and he would hate me for hurting you. And he would kill you for believing me. I'm so sorry, my love." Rachel whispered, and for a moment she didn't know who she was addressing.

She knew that he would always blame himself for Rome. She knew he would never forgive herself for hurting him so much. But she didn't know where to go from here. So she let him cry, let his pain wash over her, let herself feel the hurt of each ragged breath he took. If torture was watching someone you love get hurt, watching him hurt because of her…there wasn't a word in the dictionary to describe what that was.

For him, there was no shame in crying, only unbearable grief-the kind reserved for incredible love, unimaginable loss and guilt…guilt that on a regular day he could live with, but that right now was threatening to drown him. But it didn't.

Eventually the sobs subsided. He breathed in pained, erratic breaths, held Rachel tighter, because even when he hated himself, he couldn't stop loving her.

She held him against her. Neither one of them knew what to do, or what to say. So Joe spoke first. He always did. "I love you," he confessed softly. Three words that could heal a world of pain.

I don't deserve you, Rachel wanted to say. Neither do I, he would reply and she'd try to convince him otherwise. So instead, she just said "I love you, too". It was soft, steady. An affirmation. A promise.

They both knew that despite their better judgement they would never stop loving each other. They knew that-for better or for worse-they were condemned to be two broken people that found redemption in their love for each other. Today it was for better.

Sunlight was beginning to stream through the rafters of the pigeon room. Neither of them said anything, they didn't move. They stayed there, motionless, exhausted, basking in the knowledge that they had survived the worst part of November 19th.


End file.
